[b]Skotos![/b]

Who perceives shadows? Animals, of course. Dogs, specifically. Dogs are vigilant creatures, that is part of their ancient nature, preserved no matter what strange future they find themselves in or what strange sculptures have been built to capture their essence. It is a deep and profound truth that dogs can see ghosts; this is a fact that explains as much about ghosts as about dogs.

And so Rusty [i]sees[/i] you. Alexa's strange mechanical hound, neither less nor more than any other dog. Ancient wisdom said that all dogs are good dogs, but dogs consider that ideal something to aspire to every day. And so, with the simple but irreversible logic of a good dog, Rusty takes a chomp of your dangling scarf and starts to pull you along by the neck at a brisk trot in a reversal of the traditional shape of walkies. His metal nose is pressed up against the ground, air vacuumed into the powerful sensory array encased therein, and dragged by that inevitable logic the hound pulls and pulls you with him.

He is pulling you away from the fight. You might regret leaving your... you might regret leaving Alexa behind. But while you were a prop there you are anything but now. The other truth of dogs is that whoever you are, you are the most important person in the entire universe - a powerful, beautiful, commanding, magical genius who alone will be able to unravel the mystery at the end of that snuffling nose.

A shadow is not nothing, after all. It is enough to startle a dog, make him bark. To a dog, in that moment, that is everything.

[b]Alexa[/b]

"Oh! Isn't that a question!" said the Philosopher, clapping her hands with a wet squish sound. "There are [i]assumptions[/i] there - assumptions that must be unpacked!"

The Azura goons are not legends of the field, not cult champions endlessly dedicated to the mastery of war. They are large and they are tough and they are armed, but so are you. The one difference is Athena herself, prowling around the edge of the duel like a drill instructor.

"The first and most important is one of identity," said the Philosopher, voice soaring above the clumsy clash of steel. "Who are you? Why must you offer protection? If someone is to be strong then why is it to be you? If you would wish upon the Gods, then why not wish for a tongue quicksilver that you might charm your foes? Why not plead for wealth immense that you might harness the strength of others? Why not pray for hearth and home that none might seek quarrel with you or yours at all? Why [i]strength[/i]? Why [b]you[/b]? Why judge yourself by a wish that you yourself have discarded?"



[b]Vasilia and Dolce![/b]

"It all depends on me," said the Azura. "It depends on me alone. Everyone left. Everyone was taken. Every corner was cut. Atlas was taken, the Skies have fallen, and now I must carry them alone."

There is no wasted effort. No luxury of inefficiency. This is not merely a mortal's idea of perfection, it's a god's as well. So it seems at first... but that's not quite right. There are still flourishes. Wasteful gestures. Little flashes of creativity amidst the grinding order.

Neither is it the limit of what she might do if she was pushed a little harder. Each act is a tightrope cast over the hole someone left behind. Her ability to perform this task is a monument as well as an obligation. The quirks, the flourishes, the little personal touches have not been excised in the name of mastery. She clings to them as the only reminders she has of friends long lost. 

They're the only things tying her to this place, but they bind her as surely as chains. If you pushed her a little harder, Dolce, she will break them. She will break them, forced to do away with those painful memories at long last, and transcend. She will set down her spoons and spheres and walk from this kitchen free from the trap of love that so binds her. She will be whole and free and forgiven, allowed at last to start life again anew. Apollo sits on this side, smiling gently.

But Aphrodite stands on the other. Perhaps, says the God of Love with his ancient and tortured face, spending eternity suffering for love is ideal. Perhaps she should wait forever. Perhaps there are some things you should never get over. In this case you should ease her burden for her for a moment, slip into the steps of her industry and get ahead of the work for just a little while. It will buy you some time to talk to her, and she will listen. And when you are done she will return to her recollections.

The choice is yours then, Dolce, a trial of the gods. Move on, or dwell in remembrance? Which is better?

[b]XIII![/b]

Your first task is to rob a train.

It's the first of a shopping list of bizarre goals. Some are yours, some are Beljani's, some are given to the Master of Assassins, the Kaeri, even the Lanterns. The full force of the Anemoi has been mobilized behind the strange compulsive vision of Beautiful even if she can't even begin to explain how all of this will somehow end in death and ruin.

You stand atop the racing Azura vehicle as it crosses between two mountains on a rail of silken thread. You stand beneath the violet sun and stars as the Azura warden pulls herself up onto the roof, surrounded by rotating grav-spheres. There is no pretense of reinforcements, no sign that this will ever be made something larger - this society is too brittle for backup. Defeat her here and the prize is yours.

The wind rushes through your ears and your heart beats with a new kind of adrenaline. A trial, but one beneath the sun and sky, with rewards physical and immediate. The separation between ability and result has never been smaller.